


Ghost Hunting on Date Night

by Quiddity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ghost Hunting, M/M, porn with the slightest excuse of plot, some minor spookiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 19:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11675463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiddity/pseuds/Quiddity
Summary: Keith taps on the ceiling light, unbuckles his seatbelt, and reaches into the back seat to pull up a small camera bag. Just an old camcorder Keith had picked up in a thrift shop when he’d decided to start on a new hobby.Ghost hunting.Which was… fine. As long as Keith was happy and interested in his hobby. As long as he was safe whenever he went on one of his hunts. It didn’t even bother him that much when Keith didn’t come tracking back to the house until just after sunrise, so tired that Shiro struggled to convince him into staying awake long enough even to eat breakfast.





	Ghost Hunting on Date Night

“Keith, I’m not really sure about this,” Shiro says as he pulls their car into a parking spot. He shuts the car off and when the headlights cut off, they’re surrounded by darkness. Keith taps on the ceiling light, unbuckles his seatbelt, and reaches into the back seat to pull up a small camera bag. Just an old camcorder Keith had picked up in a thrift shop when he’d decided to start on a new hobby. 

Ghost hunting. 

Which was… fine. As long as Keith was happy and interested in his hobby. As long as he was safe whenever he went on one of his hunts. It didn’t even bother him that much when Keith didn’t come tracking back to the house until just after sunrise, so tired that Shiro struggled to convince him into staying awake long enough even to eat breakfast. 

Though he had to admit that he felt a little better about it now that he had tagged along. He just wasn’t sure how good of a date night this would make. But Keith seemed more than happy when he’d finally whittled Shiro down enough to get him to agree in going on a hunt with him. 

“It’s totally fine. There’s not even any fences to jump around this one. No one cares if we go poking around or not,” Keith says. He turns on the camera with a soft beep, nods in satisfaction when the tiny screen lights up. He reaches into the bag for spare batteries and tuck them deep into his jacket pocket. 

“Fences?” Shiro asks. A soft edge of sternness creeping into his voice. “If you’re trespassin-” Keith cuts him off by leaning over the center console and kissing his cheek. 

“I’m not, babe,” Keith says. He opens the door and steps out quickly into the parking lot. “Come on, let's go through the lobby first.” Shiro sighs and reluctantly follows Keith out. He locks the car and the beep echoes across the empty streets around them. 

The lobby turns out to be little more than a small room furnished only with a cheap looking desk, a couple filing cabinets, and a low, well worn and dusty couch. Par for the course for a closed down hotel in the oldest neighborhood in the city. 

Keith lingers just inside the door and pulls his camera up. Shiro comes up short beside him to let him look around the room, but Keith huffs, looking at Shiro through the camera’s display. 

“Go on,” Keith urges, waving Shiro further into the room. Shiro hesitates, but steps a few feet into the camera’s view. “Ask them some questions.” 

Shiro just stands there, frowning as his mind comes up blank. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know, just, whatever comes to mind. You just have to be respectful,” Keith says. Shiro licks his lips. He’s watched all sorts of those ghost hunting reality shows with Keith so he had  _ some  _ kind of idea of the kinds of questions people typically asked ghosts. But… he looks around the room, squinting against the dark. They usually get some kind of response pretty quickly and if there is anything here, he doesn’t want to rouse it. 

“Shiro,” Keith sighs after a few more seconds of silence. “Me just filming you fidget in this beat up room is way creepier than anything a ghost could do to you. You’re okay, just think of it like you’re visiting Iverson’s house.” 

“I do  _ not  _ want to think about what Iverson would do to me if I showed up at his house and started asking him if he’s hanging around at three in the morning,” Shiro cuts back. Keith makes this cute scoffing sound, but doesn’t rise, instead holding the camera steady on Shiro. Shiro stares at the red recording light, tries not to think about what could or couldn’t be in this place. After all, as far as he knew, this place closed down simply for a lack of business instead of anything that would attract ghosts. 

“Uh, hello? Is anyone here?” Shiro asks. He goes quiet, and Keith holds up his free hand, motioning for Shiro not to move or make too much noise while he records the near silence in the aftermath. Shiro counts to thirty, then Keith indicates he should ask another. 

“Who were you?” Shiro asks. In the pause after, Shiro feels more awkward than anything. He doesn’t feel anything besides for the slight self consciousness that comes from having a camera pointed at him and having nothing to do. Like a news report gone horribly wrong. 

Keith holds up one finger next.  _ One more.  _

“Do you mind if we take a look around tonight?” Shiro asks, even less confidently than the other two. The pause, and Shiro gets to six or seven before it feels like there’s this crackling energy at his back. It’s that sensation of walking down the hallway in the middle of the night as a kid, when he was sure there was a monster behind him and it would get him if he didn’t get back to bed  _ right now _ . Shiro rolls his shoulders, tries not to look too uncomfortable for the sake of the recording, but the hair on the back of his neck is standing on end and it feels like everything behind him is filled with static. 

At the count of twenty-four, something thumps quietly down the hall. Shiro flinches, turns, then retreats to Keith’s side. “What was that.” Shiro asks, the end of his question clipped short and nervous. Keith lowers his camera from his face, but still remains careful to keep it steady and pointed into the room rather than at the floor. 

“What are you talking about? That tiny thump I could barely hear?” Keith asks. Shiro frowns. “Probably an animal.” Then a little pause. “Let’s go check it out.” Keith walks further into the room, then turns back and carefully sets the camera in Shiro’s hand. “You take charge of this now. You don’t know what you’re doing.” Shiro’s tempted to tell Keith no. That he’d rather just them both go back to the car. They can go home and curl up in bed to watch a movie. 

But he knows that he had been dragging his feet on following Keith into one of his hunts. And he can tell that Keith  _ loves  _ this in the way he talks and the energy in his steps as he moves to the far side of the room and opens the door into a hall. Shiro can be scared all he wants, but he owes it to Keith to put in a good effort tonight.

* * *

 

Having the camera in his hands is both a blessing and a curse. Pros were that he had something to focus on aside from the creepy halls and rooms they kept finding themselves in. It was something he could hide behind as well. Not like he really thought a fifteen year old camcorder would protect him from any sort of otherworldly being, but it was nice to believe it from time to time. 

Cons were him nearly dumping himself into the empty swimming pool because he was too focused on the screen. Keith kept having to remind him to keep the camera steady and  _ not  _ pointed at the floor, because ‘Shiro! You’re missing everything!’. And then the whole fact that Keith thought he was  _ missing things  _ and he really did not want to see any kind of spooky, ephemeral manifestation either through a tiny camera screen or with the naked eye. He would much rather stare at the floor. 

Or.. the tight, pert roundness of Keith’s ass as he starts down a flight of stairs. Keith was… a really good distraction, and as irritated as Keith was getting over his inability to be a practiced cameraman, he hadn’t offered or even threatened to take the camera away from him. 

“You know the story of this place, Shiro?” Keith asks. Shiro reluctantly pulls the camera up from the clinging curves of Keith’s jeans and up to his face, just a little twitch of the camera since Keith is halfway down the staircase. “Down here is the storage rooms. Some guy worked here. Named, uh… Charlie. Charlie Herron.”

“Charlie the Cannibal?” Shiro asks. It’s not even like he had heard the story. He just knows that Keith trying to spook him with a scary tale and Charlie the Cannibal sounds like an appropriately grade school of a guess. But Keith pauses, his eyes flicking to the side. He’s caught off guard. 

“Yeah?” Keith says, the word catching with a bit of hesitation. “Yeah, that’s what the cops called him after… Dammit, Shiro! Let me tell the story!” Keith huffs. He turns and starts back down the rest of the stairs, speaking up so he camera can still catch his voice easily. 

“Charlie was one of those guys that everyone tended to trust. He was nice, he was funny, he got along with everybody, and when this place was open forty years ago, the place was pretty popular. Everybody knew him even though he was just a housekeeper.” Keith reaches the bottom of the stairs and Shiro keeps the camera pinned on the small of his back and the little slip of skin that shows when Keith raises his arms above his head and stretches. Shiro doesn’t know one way or the other what parts of Keith’s story are true and which are him making things up. He didn’t think this kind of place would have a reputation big enough that everyone would know a housekeeper, but this was kind of a lowkey neighborhood, and he knew that Keith was terrible at making up stories on his own. 

He follows Keith down the stairs and down a wide, low-ceilinged hallway and comes to the conclusion that Keith is just retelling a spooky tale he read on the internet. Keith pulls a flashlight out of his jacket, then continues talking, his words and footsteps echoing gently, everything dimly lit by the moonlight coming in through the basement windows set high in the walls. “So, in the last few years that this place was open, there was a string of disappearances. People would check in, get settled, but after they were supposed to check out, they would just… never show up again.” 

Shiro gently sweeps the camera back and forth, covering the hallway and stepping slowly to keep the shot steady. He’s listening to Keith and focusing on the camera in equal measures, but Keith’s story is starting to get to him as images of confused hotel staff looking for missing persons upstairs come to mind. “What about their things? Still in their rooms?” Shiro asks. Through the camera’s screen, he sees an image of Keith shake his head. 

“Yeah, it was still there sometimes. But more often than not their things were already gone, and no one would really know until the families started calling the hotel wanting to know where their loved ones were. For a long time the hotel just offered condolences, but ultimately they didn’t think they could do anything about it. As far as they knew, the patrons had left the hotel as normal.” Keith nears the end of the hall, faces the last of a string of heavy wooden doors. 

“Then, in the last winter before this place closed down, a young woman went missing a full three days before she was supposed to check out,” Keith says. Shiro stops, lowers the camera, keeping it pointed at Keith, but watching him instead of the screen. Keith glances at him, and the flashlight catches his eyes in a strange way. They flash for half a second and Shiro’s hair stands up on his arms and the back of his neck. Part of him says that he’s creeping himself out, but the clench of uneasiness in his gut is just a little stronger. 

“What happened?” he asks softly. Keith smiles softly, but in the dim lighting, it looks almost aggressive. 

“Well, they poked around in the storage rooms and,” Keith grabs the handle of the door, twists it, and pushes it in. “They found her suitcases in this room.” Keith steps in and Shiro follows him. He again moves the camera back and forth around the room, taking it in. It’s dark and cramped, but there’s nothing in there but an old desk and a stack of chairs in the corner. The rest is just bare concrete and a few boxes of old newspapers against the wall. Keith turns and faces the camera, looking almost too gleeful with his own story. 

“They didn’t just find her luggage in here. They found her body too. Chopped up and half eaten in one of her suitcases.” The words hardly leave Keith’s mouth before that crackling, static feeling once again crawls over Shiro’s shoulders. The same one when he’d asked his questions in the lobby but different. More intense. 

Closer. 

He wants to run. It feels  _ wrong _ . But all he can do is look at Keith through the viewfinder as the image jerks, splits, the colors jittering into a hundred rainbow squares before it cuts out completely. 

The door behind him slams shut so hard Shiro swears he feels the boom rattle in his teeth. He jerks, yelps, leaping further into the room and dropping the camera at the same time. The beam of Keith’s flashlight dances around as he moves to keep Shiro from landing on him. 

Keith laughs, the sharp, almost giddy sound that he makes when he’s a little scared. But he recovers faster, and kneels to pick up the camera while Shiro pushes himself against the desk hard enough for it to dig into his hip, shivering anxiously. 

“Babe? You okay?” Keith asks. He goes over to the door, opens it, and this time he uses a chunk of fallen cement to hold it open. “Holy shit, I didn’t think I’d get you that worked up with that story,” Keith says. He comes back to the desk and now Shiro’s calmed down a little seeing that Keith apparently hasn’t felt or seen anything. But his heart still thuds achingly hard in his throat. Keith sets the flashlight and the camera on the desk beside them and loops his arms around Shiro’s neck. He tries to kiss him, but Shiro turns his head, and Keith presses his lips to his cheek instead. 

“I just read that story on the internet, Shiro. You know, one of those conspiracy sites you hate?” Keith says. Shiro wheezes and Keith kisses the line of his jaw now, his nails rubbing little circles in the short cropped hair at the back of Shiro’s head. “I’m sorry.” 

“No-” Shiro huffs. He relaxes a little more, leans hard on the desk and circles his arms loosely around Keith’s waist. “It’s not that. The door surprised me.” Keith laughs, tucks his head under Shiro’s chin and mouths gently at his throat. 

“It’s just uneven and swings shut on its own. I was watching it close behind you, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so loud,” a little pinch when Keith nips his collar and Shiro tries to tip his head and look down at him, though he can only see a soft outline of him, even with both the light of the flashlight and the moonlight coming in through the basement windows. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro asks lowly. Keith just purrs, drags his hands down Shiro’s sides and tucks them under his shirt at the small of his back. 

“Thanks for coming out here with me tonight,” Keith says. He spreads his hands over Shiro’s skin, pushes his shirt up to his ribs. “I need to make it up to you for scaring you, even though you’re cute when you yell and try to break my camera.” Speaking of camera, Shiro glances over to it. It’s off, and turned away from them. He feels Keith’s hair tickle under his chin as he looks at it too. 

“I think you just knocked the batteries loose,” Keith hums, and hooks his fingers in the front of Shiro’s pants. “Now stay there. I have plans for you.” Shiro does so only as long as it takes Keith to pull open the front of his jeans before he shifts, his breath catching when Keith cups his mostly soft dick in his palm. 

“You don’t wanna go home for this?” he asks. Keith shakes his head, licks delicately over Shiro’s pulse in his throat and rubs him gently with the heel of his palm. Shiro closes his eyes and curses himself as he feels himself twitch.

“Why? You think someone will come down here and find us? We’re the first people to be here in  _ years.  _ We’re fine,” Keith says, and to prove his point he pushes close, grinds his own straining arousal on Shiro’s thigh. 

Shiro wants to tell him that it’s more because of that crackly feeling he’d been feeling at his back and he really would hate to feel it again while he’s fucking his boyfriend. But Keith drops to his knees, jerks Shiro’s underwear down to mid thigh and wraps his mouth around the head of his cock. 

It’s a combination of the warm wetness of Keith’s mouth and Shiro being wholly unable to tell Keith no when it came to sex. Keith’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock and Shiro groans. He grips the edge of the desk with one hand, the other burying into Keith’s soft hair and gently tugging him closer. He feels Keith try to smile for a beat, then Keith catches up with him and starts to bob his head. He takes it slow for the minute or so it takes him to get Shiro hard, then he pulls back and rests his head on Shiro’s hip. 

Shiro hears more than sees Keith unzip his own pants, feels the hot breath across his hip as Keith shoves his pants down around his knees and sucks his own fingers in his mouth. Just long enough to wet them apparently, because he shifts and whines in that soft, aching way that Shiro knows means he’s fingering himself. 

“Really?” Shiro asks breathlessly. Keith only hums, kissing the point of his hip as he wraps his free hand around Shiro’s cock and pumps him slow and firm. He makes that soft milking motion with his hand so effortlessly Shiro nearly forgets they’re in a basement because he’s too busy dribbling precome down Keith’s wrist. 

“I’m just catching up from earlier,” Keith pants. He does something good to himself that Shiro can’t see, something that makes him hitch and bury his nose into Shiro’s hip as he shakes. “Oh my God,” Keith breathes and now both hands are gripping the fabric of Shiro’s jeans as he pushes himself back up to his feet. “You’re gonna fuck me. Now.” 

“What? Earlie-” he’s cut off by the hungry, slightly salt flavored kiss Keith gives him. Their tongues slip over each other for half a heartbeat, then Keith is pushing past Shiro and bracing himself with both hands on the desktop. He doesn’t need to lead Shiro into pressing his whole body against his back and framing his hips in his hands. 

He quickly figures out what Keith meant by earlier when he ruts against his ass and feels the familiar glide of lube. He pants, opens his mouth to try and say something even as he uses one hand to line himself up and push in. He goes easily, but Keith still whines, arches his back and pushes himself back on Shiro’s cock, his body gripping his arousal greedily. 

“This is why you spent so long getting ready?” Shiro asks. He presses his lips to Keith’s ear as he says it, murmuring lowly and drawing ann eager shiver out of Keith’s slim body. “You told me you were looking for batteries, but really you were fucking yourself with your fingers, weren’t you,” he accuses. He closes his eyes as he starts to rock his hips, groaning breathlessly. 

“Mhm-” Keith pants. Then he curses, hanging his head. Shiro sets a slow pace, dragging each thrust out and savoring the heat and friction wrapped around his cock. He nuzzles into Keith’s shoulder, kissing over the skin just at the edge of his shirt. 

“I love you,” Shiro pants. But at the same time he snaps his hips sharply, dragging a mewl and a shivering bump of hips out of Keith. “What kind of person makes sure they’re prepped before they go ghosthunting? You’re amazing,” Shiro breathes. One hand slips down over Keith’s twitching belly to the joint of his legs, wrapping firmly around his cock. The other shoves up under Keith’s shirt and pinches one of his nipples tightly between his fingers. 

The edge of pain makes Keith groan, low and loud, the sound echoing in the dark room. Keith claps one hand over his mouth to muffle himself. Then he changes his mind and grips Shiro’s wrist at his cock. Shiro only strokes him harder, slipping his fingers over the leaking head. 

“I’m-” Keith drags in a ragged breath. He pushes up on his toes, wringing tight around Shiro’s cock when he starts to fuck into him harder, growling into Keith’s ear as his pleasure weighs heavy in his gut. Shiro tightens his grip on Keith’s dick, twists his nipple just enough to ache. “Oh, fuck-!” Keith cries and Shiro feels him come apart around him, his body pulsing and gripping Shiro’s cock in waves. 

“That’s it, baby-” Shiro breathes. He strokes Keith through his high, fucks him slow through it until he follows him over the edge with a ragged groan. He totally forgets that they’re fucking against an ancient desk in the basement of an abandoned hotel. All he knows is that Keith is warm and pliant against him and his afterglow feels like warm honey in his mind. 

He shifts, slips out of Keith, and hugs him loosely around his waist. A kiss under his ear and a wide hand rubbing up and down Keith’s flank, feeling his chest beat quickly as Keith tries to catch his breath. “You’re okay?” he asks softly. 

“Oh yeah,” Keith breaths. “I’m great.” He turns his head, gives Shiro a quick, sloppy kiss, then shifts enough that Shiro lets him go and they can both get their clothes in order. “I think I might have come on my shirt, but I think it’s worth it,” Keith adds, and zips up his jacket. He grabs the flashlight off the desk, but when he goes to grab the camera, he pauses. 

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me you were gonna turn the camera on us?” Keith asks. He doesn’t sound mad, but he briefly flashes the light in Shiro’s eyes in retaliation. “I would have put on more of a show.” Shiro hardly hears him. Instead, that creepy feeling of static grows between his shoulders again. 

“I didn’t do anything with the camera. I forgot about it,” he says. But when he looks, the camera’s clearly turned towards them, the red recording light beating steadily. That… he remembered it very clearly being off. Keith had even mentioned that he had probably knocked the batteries loose. He shivers, and Keith does the same. 

“Okay, well, I didn’t touch it,” Keith says. He hesitates, almost like he thinks the camera will bite him, but then he snatches up the camera and quickly turns it off. “I think it’s time to go home now.” 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at quiddid on tumblr!


End file.
